


Paint

by noblydonedonnanoble



Series: Waiting on the Sun to Go Down [3]
Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-03
Updated: 2012-08-03
Packaged: 2017-11-11 09:03:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/476864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noblydonedonnanoble/pseuds/noblydonedonnanoble





	Paint

                David is still not certain precisely how she roped him into this. Apparently, he owed her; probably some special day that he couldn’t remember he’d forgotten. Really, though, there were so many more interesting things to do with your weekend than _help paint Catherine’s flat_. Go to a pub and get pissed; watch Doctor Who; get around to some of those books on his reading list; do some laundry; watch grass grow.

                He also is fairly certain that shagging her against the walls would be far more fun than helping to paint them.

                Regardless, he finds himself carrying paint cans up countless stairs because of course the elevator is being repaired.

                Catherine is helping him. It’s not like she’s making him do all the grunt work. But still. It’s tedious and frustrating and they keep stopping on every landing to catch their breath. “Please remind me why this is worth it.”

                “Because every room in my flat is white. So we’re painting my kitchen yellow and my bedroom green and the living room blue and everything will be much more satisfying, I think.”

                Nope. He still doesn’t see how that’s worth it. The rest of the way up, though, he doesn’t complain.

                The majority of her furniture is covered by sheets or plastic tarps, while her floor is left entirely clear—because she’d rather have stray drops of paint on her wood flooring than on her lovely upholstered sofa, apparently.

                Eventually, they settle into a comfortable rhythm; he rolls the paint onto the wall, and then Catherine follows after him and evens out the color with a brush.

                “At what point in this whole process do I stop owing you for whatever it is that I did?” David asks eventually.

                She looks at him and smirks. “Now that you’ve asked that question, I’m tempted to insist that you do more. You’ll just owe me forever, David. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

                Instead of responding, he scowls and tweaks her nose.

                But then he laughs. “Whoops.”

                “What, David?” She looks up at the spot on the wall that he’d been working at. “What did you do?”

                “Um, well.” He glances down at his hand, then turns it toward Catherine. “It seems that I’ve got some paint on my fingers.”

                For a moment, his point is lost on her. But then her jaw drops slightly. She brushes at her nose with the back of her hand, and looks down to see that some paint has rubbed off. “Really? Did you seriously not know that you had paint on your fingers?”

                “Might have slipped my mind.”

                Before he knows what’s happening, Catherine has attacked him, getting all the way from above one eye to above his ear with her brush. “Oh, I’m sorry David. It slipped my mind that I had a paint brush in my hand, too.”

                David touches the side of his head, looks at the paint and then stares at her. “You got paint in my hair!”

                She grins devilishly. “Yes. I believe I did.” Cocking her head to one side, she murmurs, “What are you going to do about it?”

                The next several minutes are occupied with David chasing Catherine around the flat, wielding a paint can and a brush of his own. “Do you know how long it’s going to take to wash that out of my hair?” he shouts. But she just laughs and continues to dodge his advances.

                And then he catches her off-guard, pouncing and tackling her onto her bed. He sits on top of her, straddling her at the waist and laughing maniacally as he brushes paint across her face, her neck and arms. She giggles and tries to fend him off (which simply leads to quite a bit of paint on her hands).

                Finally, though, she catches ahold of his wrist and pulls the brush away from him, tossing it aside.

                “Now you definitely owe me,” she whispers.

                He leans down and kisses her. Her hands run through his hair, underneath his shirt and up his back. Getting paint everywhere.

                David decides that, well, painting Catherine’s flat isn’t _all_ bad.


End file.
